A Good Girl's Guide to Murder (A Good Girl's Guide to Murder #1) - Holly Jackson Page 0,88

was on Andie when she died and it’s lost forever with her body. But let’s pretend it wasn’t. Let’s say that Andie was intercepted as she drove away from home. Let’s say that she was killed and disposed of. And then the killer thinks to themselves: oh no, the burner phone could lead to me and what if the police find it in their searches?

So they have to go and get it. There are two people on my list that I’ve confirmed knew about the burner phone: Max and Howie. If Daniel da Silva was Secret Older Guy, then he surely knew about it too. Howie, in particular, knew where it was hidden.

What if one of them went to the Bell house and removed the burner phone after killing Andie, before it could be found? I have some more questions for Becca Bell. I don’t know if she’ll answer them but I have to try.

Thirty-One

She felt the nerves as barbs sticking in her gut as she walked up to the building. It was a tiny glass-fronted office building with a small metallic sign reading Kilton Mail beside the main door. And although it was a Monday morning the place looked and felt abandoned. No sign of life or movement in any of the lower windows.

Pip pressed the button on the wall next to the door. It made a tinny whining sound that grated in her ears. She let it go and, seconds later, a muffled robotic voice came through the speaker.

‘Hello?’

‘Err, hi,’ Pip said. ‘I’m here to see Becca Bell.’

‘OK,’ the voice said, ‘I’ll buzz you in. Give the door a good push ’cause it’s sticky.’

A harsh buzz sounded. Pip pushed the door and barged it with her hip and, with a clacking noise, the door unstuck and swung inwards. She closed it behind her and stood there in a small and cold room. There were three sofas and a couple of coffee tables but no people.

‘Hello?’ she called.

A door opened and a man strolled through, flicking the collar up on his long beige coat. A man with straight dark hair pushed to the side and grey-tinged skin. It was Stanley Forbes.

‘Oh.’ He stopped when he saw Pip. ‘I’m just on my way out. I . . . who are you?’

He stared at her with narrowed eyes, his lower jaw jutted out, and Pip felt goosebumps crawling down her neck. It was cold in here.

‘I’m here to see Becca,’ she said.

‘Oh, right.’ He smiled without showing his teeth. ‘Everyone’s working in the back room today. Heating’s busted at the front. That way.’ He pointed at the door he’d come through.

‘Thank you,’ she said, but Stanley wasn’t listening. He was already halfway out of the front door. It banged shut, drowning out the ‘ooo’ in her thanks.

Pip walked over to the far door and pushed through it. A short corridor opened up into a larger room, with four paper-laden desks pushed against each wall. There were three women in here, each typing away at the computers on their desks, jointly creating a pitter-patter song that filled the room. None of them had noticed her over the sound of it.

Pip walked towards Becca Bell, her short blonde hair scraped back in a stubby ponytail, and cleared her throat.

‘Hi, Becca,’ she said.

Becca spun around in her chair and the other two women looked up. ‘Oh,’ she said, ‘it’s you that’s here to see me? Shouldn’t you be at school?’

‘Yeah, sorry. It’s half-term,’ Pip said, shifting nervously under Becca’s gaze, thinking of how close she and Ravi had been to getting caught by her in the Bell house. Pip looked instead over Becca’s shoulder, at the computer screen full of typed words.

Becca’s eyes followed hers and she turned back to minimize the document.

‘Sorry,’ she said, ‘it’s the first piece I’m writing for the newspaper and my first draft is absolutely awful. My eyes only,’ she smiled.

‘What’s it about?’ Pip asked.

‘Oh, um, it’s just about this old farmhouse that’s been uninhabited for eleven years now, just off the Kilton end of Sycamore Road. They can’t seem to sell it.’ She looked up at Pip. ‘A few of the neighbours are thinking about pitching in to buy it, trying to apply for change of use and doing it up as a pub. I’m writing about why that’s a terrible idea.’

One of the women across the room cut in: ‘My brother lives near there and he doesn’t think it’s such a terrible idea. Beer on tap just